


Liberosis

by orangesiclebirb



Series: Hanahaki Glossary [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Flowers, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Janet is here only briefly in the beginning, Language of Flowers, Might Continue?? We'll See, Rated Teen for Minor Language, characters are alluded to be there but they're not super active, like the Bats mostly. they're technically here. technically.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 08:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16991604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangesiclebirb/pseuds/orangesiclebirb
Summary: (n.) the desire to care less about things.Tim might've promised his mother that he would have it surgically removed if he was ever inflicted with Hanahaki, but sometimes promises are harder to keep than you originally believed.





	Liberosis

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo! It's been a long, long time since I actually posted anything I wrote anywhere, let alone Ao3. However, some brainstorming on the topic in the recently created Tim Drake discord between me and Kieron_ODuibhir inspired me to get writing and I cranked this out in a few hours. I might continue it, but I'm not sure, so comment if you want to about it! (I'll leave a link to the Tim Drake discord server down in the end notes, if you're interested in that!)
> 
> This is unbetaed, so if you notice a mistake don't feel bad pointing it out!

Tim remembers the first time he saw someone coughing up petals.

 

He doesn’t know how old he was, maybe five or six—it was a rare week when his parents were actually home for once, and his mother was with him as they walked down the street.

 

(She didn’t hold his hand—he was much too old for that.)

 

A woman on a corner had turned and coughed into her elbow, but it didn’t stop the bright yellow petals from falling to the ground where Tim could see them.

 

Later, his mother explained what the words _Hanahaki Disease_ meant and Tim was baffled. How _awful_ love must be, to hurt someone in such a way.

 

(Janet showed him the tattoo on her calf of a stephanotis vine that she had done when she had her hanahaki removed, and made him promise to do the same if he was ever inflicted with the disease.)

 

(He swore he would.)

 

———

 

Some promises, Tim has learned, are not what you thought they were when you made them.

 

He ignores the flower growing in his chest until he can’t anymore.

 

(Damian steps out in the R, and he runs as far away from Gotham and Dick Grayson as he can possibly get while the plant _presses_ against his lungs.)

 

He coughs and coughs and coughs and the pale white and purple petals come up like a curse.

 

(He should have known better.)

 

———

 

On the bright side, anemone is far from the worst flower to have.

 

(The reminder of being _forsaken_ makes his chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with his impending death by unrequited love.)

 

Then, what seems like overnight, there are Bats up and down his alley who, as far as he can tell, want him back in Gotham more instead of in the Tower.

 

(And hasn’t he done _enough_ ? He provides backup and intel and tech support when they ask. Why can’t they leave him be now that he _understands_ what he is among them?)

 

(He knows, deep down, he’ll never say _no_.)

 

———

 

The old affection surges, and his carefully regulated condition starts to worsen as he finds less and less ways to avoid Dick.

 

(His comms are open when he coughs out one, three, seven petals at once.

“That doesn’t sound so good, Red.”  
  
Tim clears his throat. “Just a dry throat. This weather is hell for it.”  
  
He shoves the petals in a compartment to dispose of later.)

 

Eventually, he has to resort to holding the petals in when he’s around Dick.

 

(He’s dying, but none of them can know. He doesn’t want to hear false assurances that Dick _cares_ just because they don’t want to give up their _obedient soldier._ )

 

———

 

Of course, when the anemones are joined by the pink, pink petals of poisonous azaleas, that’s not exactly an option anymore.

 

( _"Take_ __c_ are of yourself for me” _ , they whisper, betraying his facade that he couldn't care less. Even their very existence shows that he cares, _god does he care_ , but the meaning in the petals hurts worse than any blow from a criminal.)

 

Tim rushes out of Gotham back to the Tower and his Perch as discreetly as possible. He’s under no illusions that he can hide from them, especially with Oracle on their side, but he just needs to be as _far away from Dick Grayson as he can manage_ right now. At least at the Tower, they might just assume it’s business as usual.

 

(He coughs and coughs and coughs. His throat hurts no matter how much he drinks and the coughing just _doesn’t stop_ .)  
  
(The trashcan is filled with with countless bloodied petals.)

 

He thinks about Dick. He can’t help it.

 

(The first hug he ever got, and it was so warm, and the flash went off and Tim had never smiled that wide before in his life.)

(Patrols and advice and snacks and banter. Brotherly teasing, mussing his hair and poking him unexpectedly in the side. Octopus-mode engaging and Tim groaning but only half-heartedly trying to escape.)

 

His eyes are hot, and his chest burns.

 

(C’mon Tim, ignore it ignore it ignore it _ignore it_ , it doesn’t _matter_ , you aren’t what he _wants_ or what he _needs_ , you were just a placeholder until he found someone _better_ —)

 

He doesn’t go back to Gotham.

 

———

 

Six days later the Bats break into the Tower.

 

(Tim locks down the Perch, even though he knows it won’t keep them from getting in. An overly-determined Bat is a successful Bat.)

 

Tim pulls up the security feeds just in time to catch Nightwing saying “— _think we’re due for a_ chat _. He doesn’t just up and leave with no warning like that anymore, something’s_ wrong _.”_

 

(And _oh,_ Dick doesn’t know just how right he is. The petals cascade to the floor.)

 

He closes the feeds.

Tim coughs. And coughs. And coughs.

 

(If they weren’t so damn sad, he thinks, the petals would be beautiful. Pale and purple anemone and pink azaleas, artfully bloodstained.)

  
  
He coughs until he _chokes_ , full flowers trying to make its way out. He gags and coughs and bends over and leans on the wall for support.

 

(Tim knows he’s lucky his flowers are relatively small blooms; even the whole ones don’t cause as much pain as they _could_.)

  
  
The flowers fall into his hands and he slides down the wall to slump down, sitting with a thump as he gasps for air.

He coughs up more petals, but they seem less of a hindrance after the force of the full blooms.

Even so, he can’t get enough air in his lungs. Black spots dance across his vision.

Eyelids fluttering, Tim notices but doesn’t acknowledge the fact that there’s suddenly another presence in the room with him.

 

“Oh _fuck—_ ”

 

( _Forsaken_ and _take care of yourself for me_ echo in his ears.)

 

His vision goes black.

 

———

 

(He catches snatches of a conversation as he drifts between awareness and unconsciousness.

_“How could he hide…”_

_“...know who?”_

_“We’ll figure it out….”_  
  
_“...can’t imagine what…”_ )

 

———

 

Tim wakes to steady beeping and the scent of something just inherently _clean_.

Opening his eyes shows the med bay, and _shit_ he must’ve been out for a good while if they managed to drag him back to the Cave in that time.

He blinks and turns his head to look at the monitor next to him, and ultimately realizes he’s too exhausted and—if the faint fuzz in his head is anything to go by—drugged up to bother trying to sneak his way out.

 

(Months ago he never would’ve resigned himself like that, but slowly dying has worn him _down_ to the last dredges of his capability to resist the Bats.)

 

Turning his head the other way leads to him blinking slowly at one Dick Grayson sleeping away in a chair by his bedside, twisted in an ungodly position that could never be comfortable for anyone else.

As though sensing Tim’s awareness, Dick stirs, recontorting himself into a much normaller position and opening his eyes.

Tim doesn’t say anything, and the two stare at each other in silence until Dick reaches forward to take one of Tim’s hands.

 

“Timmy…” he starts, and Tim looks away.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” comes out hoarse, though Tim supposes he should’ve expected that.

“You should have _told_ us.”  
  
“Why? So you could try to _fix it?”_ Tim sneers, turning his eyes back to him and sitting up, bearing his teeth slightly. “Guess what, _Dick,_ this isn’t something you can fix!”

 

Dick’s face grows solemn, and Tim pulls his hand away before turning to cough, catching the petals in his hands.

He doesn’t look at Dick again, but he can tell when he moves, and the next thing Tim knows, he’s being pulled into a tight hug. Dick buries his nose into Tim’s hair, and Tim hesitates before hugging him back.

 

(Even as his eyes grow hot and his chest feels tight.)

  
  
He can’t suppress the need to cough anymore, not at this stage. He pulls back slightly choking out an apology because Dick doesn’t deserve to have the evidence of Tim’s illness on him.

 

(Even if it’s his fault.)  
  
(But it’s _not,_ it’s not, it’s Tim’s fault for letting himself get too close, too attached, for letting himself be so _blind_ as to his place amongst them—)

 

Dick brushes off the apology and climbs into the bed, somehow fitting himself in to curl around Tim. Tim closes his eyes and pretends like the tears aren’t burning a path down his face before calloused fingers rub them away.

 

“Shhh, Timmy, it’s alright. It’s gonna be okay, little brother.”

 

Tim sobs, and wishes he could let himself believe it.

 

“It’s not. It’s really, really not.”

 

For now, he lets Dick wrap his arms around him, indulges himself while he cries and _shakes the hell apart_.

 

(Tim knows it won’t be the same once Dick _knows_ , but he can’t bring himself to care. If he’s going to die, at least he got to have this for a little bit. Even if it’s not real, even though he knows Dick doesn’t care for him like he used to think he did...it’s better than nothing.)

( _Even the lies are better than nothing._ )

**Author's Note:**

> Tim Drake discord: <https://discord.gg/hQFFQ5t>  
> My tumblr is [softredrobin](http://softredrobin.tumblr.com/)


End file.
